


Do Not Disturb

by FoxDragon



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crack, Fix-It, Fix-it December, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Implied Fili/Ori - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Humor, awkward walk-in fic, gratuitous use of parenthesis, implied Nori/Dwalin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxDragon/pseuds/FoxDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield has been acting very odd recently and his friends are concerned. They decide to get to the bottom of things and what they find is not what they were expecting.</p><p>Poor Fili and Kili may never be the same again.</p><p>At least after this they will always be sure to knock before entering the room!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Disturb

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen BotFA yet and I'm posting this before I do because I'm pretty sure after that I'm just going to be depressed. So here, have crack!
> 
> This was beta'd by the amazing, lovely and no doubt justifiably annoyed with me right now, Isimun!!!! (Srsly cannot believe I forgot to credit you hun, a thousand fluffy apologies and cookies!!!)

Fili and Kili were very, very concerned. 

The battle for Erebor had been terrible and terrifying, but they had survived. All of them, by some miracle of the Valar. Oh there had been injuries, some quite terrible, and there had been losses of course, men elves and dwarves all counted among the dead. But by some trick of fate or grace or _something_ the entire company that had journeyed across the whole of Arda had survived.

It was only natural then, that they would all feel a certain measure of relief. That an undeniable euphoria would touch them all.

But even that was not enough to explain the change that had come so suddenly over their uncle.

Thorin Oakenshield was happy. _Cheerful_. One might even say giddy.

He had taken to greeting his nephews, friends, and even, once, _Thranduil_ with wide excited smiles, hearty backslaps and booming words of greeting.

It was unnatural.

It was _wrong_.

The rest of the company had noticed as well, how could they not?

Ori claimed to have seen him eating salad, and while Fili thought that the scribe’s distrust of vegetables gave him a strong bias, his brother of course had been quick to agree with Ori that surely that many greens may have done something to their uncle’s brain. Perhaps a somehow lettuce had taken root inside his head? 

As far as Fili was concerned it was FAR more likely that Gandalf or the elves had magicked him somehow, cast some sort of dire ‘love everything’ spell on him. Kili tried to point out that if that was the case, why would he sleep late so many mornings? Always their uncle had been an early riser, sleeping little and working long tireless hours, now he retired to his chambers as soon as he could manage, and lingered there long past the breakfast hour.

Oin took to monitoring the amounts of his herbs and remedies very closely. Especially his supply of poppy milk. Nothing seemed to be disappearing but he was quite careful nonetheless.

Together Gloin, Bifur and Bofur set up a rotating guard on the treasure chambers, the suspicion that this was some new facet of the gold sickness went unsaid, true, but they were all thinking it. And they all knew that they were all thinking it.

Bombur checked, double checked, and triple checked all of his supplies for anything, _anything_ that was the slightest bit suspicious. If anything seemed overly ripe, oddly shaped, or even had the slightest of spots it was set aside, just to be safe.

Balin and Dwalin drafted a carefully worded letter to the Lady Dis in the blue mountains bidding her to travel to Erebor with ‘greatest haste’ while pouring over legal precedents for granting stewardship during a grown king’s reign. 

Nori disappeared for a few hours, then reappeared declaring that he didn’t think the king’s behavior was much to be concerned about when really they should be more focused on the reconstruction efforts.

(And that should have been a clue, really, but then Dwalin said something [mostly jokingly, but not jokingly enough] about the thief possibly having some hand in things, then Dori got flustered and upset at the implication against brother, and Fili got defensive about his uncle’s health, which made Ori upset that Fili could possibly think his brother would do such a thing, which then led to Fili begging forgiveness and Dori and Nori agreeing to a verbal cease-fire with Dwalin, but anything Nori might have learned was kept to himself after that and he and his brother’s quietly withdrew from the ensuing speculation to watch the drama unfold from the sidelines where it was safer.) 

(Popcorn may or may not have been involved)

(There were definitely chips involved.) 

(Also Dwalin found himself staying with his brother for several days until Nori deigned to talk to him again.)

Bilbo meanwhile seemed to be not very overly concerned about the sudden and drastic change in the king’s demeanor, only calling it refreshing, and sorely overdue.

Even Bard took to eyeing the dwarf king with caution and concern during their occasional, brief meetings.

After nearly two weeks of this maddening and distressing behavior change it was decided. Something had to be done. Whatever was happening, they _needed_ to intervene, to get to the root of the issue, to figure out what, exactly, had happened to Thorin.

So it was that early one morning, just past dawn but still before breakfast, the dwarves of the company (Minus Nori, Dori and Ori as Nori was still not talking to Dwalin and his brothers were staying out of things in support of him) gathered around the heavy wooden door that led into the private chambers of the King. 

Dwalin stepped forward but stopped at a hand on his shoulder. Fili looked at him calm and level, showing just a glimpse of the King he would one day be. 

“Let us Dwalin, I know he is your friend, but he is our family, our uncle, he raised us as much as a father. This should be us.” Beside him Kili nodded grimly, shoulders squared as though ready for battle.

For all they knew battle was exactly what they were about to walk into.

After giving the brothers a hard look the warrior stepped back, pulling Grasper from the harness he wore across his back. His knuckles were white under the steel of his knuckle-dusters as he gripped the axe tightly, ready for whatever madness lay beyond that door.

Behind them the rest of the company shifted and prepared themselves as well. None knew what to guess may be awaiting them. Be it some spell or madness or even sickness. Oin had both a club in his hands, and his medical bag strung across his back.

They were as ready as they could be.

Together Fili and Kili stepped up to the heavy door, Fili taking the ornate brass latch in hand while Kili rested his palm on the smooth polished wood. With one last grim look Fili pressed the latch, and Kili pressed the wood, and together the stepped forward to confront their uncle and discover exactly why he was acting the way he was.

Whatever they may have been expecting, it was not the sight of their beloved uncle, the dwarf who had raised and trained and sheltered them for all of their youth, strong and proud and steadfast, laying on his back in bed, completely bare, with his feet braced wide and his knees high. Bilbo was atop him, equally bare, pale back lined with long faintly red scratch marks punctuated by purpling love bites scattered across his shoulder blades and the base of his neck. 

Thorin’s large hands were wrapped around his rear, fingers digging into the plump flesh of bottom, balancing and lifting his body as the dwarf thrusted relentlessly up, their joining made clearly visible by spread of his legs, and the way he held the hobbit up, opened wide for his entry, and the positon of the raised bed directly across the room from the door. 

Both gleamed with sweat in the golden glow of the sunrise that streamed through the open window, voices raised together in a symphony of gasps and moans, punctuated by wet slaps of flesh on flesh and the faint slurping sound of Thorin’s heavy cock sliding deeply in and out of Bilbo’s very well oiled entrance.

All of this registered in the minds and eyes (and ears) of the brothers in half the space of a single heartbeat, the sight and sound (and smell even! It permeated the room, the heavy musk of sweat and sex and oil) burned into them like the horrors of battle, inescapable in their stark clarity.

Fili threw himself back, unwittingly right into Dwalin who had been taking his first step into the room right behind the brothers, hands flying up to cover his face as he yelped loudly “Oh Mahal! Sorry! Sorry!!”

Kili froze for a moment in pure terror and then shrieked. A very undwarvenly sound not unlike that of a young human girl.

On the bed the reaction was nearly as instant, Bilbo throwing himself to the side in a movement of pure reactive shock as Thorin rolled beneath him, hand flying to the hilt of Orcrist and landing on his feet beside the bed, coming up brandishing his sword.

Well, he was actually brandishing _two_ swords, both quite impressive, but one significantly less deadly than the other.

Kili fell to his knees on the wide stone floor, face buried in his hands now as he tried to deny what was still just in front of him. Fili meanwhile had continued his mad scramble backwards, Dwalin pushing him carelessly to the side as pressed in to see what had caused the panic, sending the older prince falling onto his backside.

The rest of the company crowded at the door, Bofur and Bombur quickly dragging Fili up from the floor and away from the scramble, while inside the room the tableau froze.

Beside the bed Thorin stood nude, Orcrist in hand, erection starting to wilt.

Kili had fallen silent, now hyperventilating.

Dwalin had his axe up and ready.

Oin, Bifur and Balin were packed into the open doorway, ready to attack or defend, just as soon as they knew what to do (and what in Mahal’s great forges was going on).

They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

On the opposite side of the bed, Bilbo slowly pushed himself up, hand rubbing at the back of his head where he had knocked into the bedside table in his sudden flight. Feeling something warm and sticky against his fingers he pulled his hand down to check. His fingers were red.

“Oh….” He said softly, voice faint as he looked up at _every single one of his friends, staring at him standing there, naked, as if on display_ “I seem to be bleeding.” He fainted, falling forward, thankfully onto the bed although he did slide slowly down to the floor soon after hitting the quilt.

At that they all started moving again, Thorin spinning and dropping Orcrist (carefully) on the bed as he rushed around it to Bilbo’s side, Dwalin settling his axe back into the harness as he approached his friend and king, snagging a sheet as he did to bring them some modicum of cover while Oin was close on his heels, trading the club for his medical bag.

Balin meanwhile called for Bifur to help him pull Kili from the room, the youngest prince was whimpering as he repeated the refrain ‘my eyes, my eyes, oh Mahal my eyes!’ in a low, keening tone.

In the hallway beyond Bofur was doing his best to hold back his laughter as Bombur was helping a pale Fili his feet. The heir to the throne looked fairly nauseous but otherwise aright and quickly staggered to his brother’s side. 

At the familiar hand on his shoulder Kili looked up and pitifully told his brother: “I can’t un-see it. It’s like it’s burned into my eyes! That which has been seen cannot be un-seen!” and he threw his arms around his brother, embracing him tightly for comfort, shoulders quaking in what may have been sobs.

Bifur patted his back soothingly and Bombur his head while Bofur lost the battle against his laughter and Balin just rolled his eyes and told the two to ‘stop being so bloody dramatic’.

Inside the room Bilbo roused quickly as Oin pronounced him mostly alright, a good bit of a knock to head but the bleeding was more caused by the sharp metal corner of the ornate bedside table (at which pronouncement Thorin declared it would be replaced immediately with something rounded. Possibly even padded. Definitely padded. Maybe bedside cushions?) than the force of the impact, and he would be quite alright. It looked worse than it was because his hair was so light and well, it was a head wound, they always bled a lot.

Starting to calm down Thorin finally rounded on his friend and guardsman, snatching the sheet Dwalin was offering him and thrusting it blindly at Bilbo as he glared. “And exactly what they hell do you lot think you’re doing barging in here, before breakfast even, and completely unannounced!”

Dwalin just crossed his arms over his wide chest, fully unimpressed. “We’ve been worried, You!” he jabbed a finger at Thorin’s chest for emphasis “Have been acting all happy and smiley and just downright odd. We thought you were under some spell or something! Or sick perhaps. We were concerned so we decided to come in when you weren’t expecting it, to see if there was some trickery or something involved and then catch it in the act.”

Thorin gave him a deadpan look. “Seriously. You thought I was bewitched. Because I have been happy. Because I _smiled_ …”

Dwalin returned the look. “You smiled, and were Nice, To _Thranduil_ ”

Faintly from where he was being helped to sit on the bed by Oin, Bilbo muttered “Amazing what he’ll do for a blowie.” And promptly froze and turned dark red as everyone still in the room turned to look at him in unison, Thorin also blushing but a bit more lightly. “Oh goddess, was that my out-loud voice?” he asked rhetorically, one hand slowly rising to cover his mouth in renewed horror.

A small strangled noise escaped from Dwalin, then another. Thorin sighed, glancing across at his friend. “Oh go on then, you’re only going to strain something holding it in.”

The huge warrior immediately doubled over in laughter while Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am never going to live this down, am I?” he asked no one in particular.

 

It took several hours to calm the princes to anything resembling ‘normal’, although it would be many days before either of them could look their uncle or Bilbo in eye.

The letters of explanation to Lady Dis were many, varied, and really, a story for a different day. But after she was reassured that regardless of what they may claim, neither of her sons experienced permanent eye or brain damage from ‘the incident’, she was rather outspoken in her joy that her brother was _finally_ learning to ‘play well with others’.

Nori just rolled his eyes, stated that he had told them it was nothing to worry about, and smugly proceeded to hold the entire incident over everyone’s (Especially Dwalin’s) heads for years to come.

Thorin did not in fact replace the bedside table with cushions. Mostly because Bilbo pointed out that of he did they would not have anywhere handy to stash the oil. A compromise was reached in the form of a new bedside table that had rounded edges and no metal embellishments. 

And true to his prediction, Thorin never did live it down. To the end of his (Long and Happy) life (With Bilbo) any time he seemed to be in an especially good mood Dwalin would cock an eyebrow and quietly ask him if he had been promised ‘a blowie’. Dwalin always took the resulting punches to the shoulder with all the grace and amusement of a true brother-in-arms.

 

 

And they lived Happily Ever After because Screw Canon!


End file.
